


Wet Dreams

by Elfbert



Series: Plumber Greg [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Anthea is the Best PA, Double Entendre, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, PWP, classic porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 18:30:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7449691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is a hard working civil servant. He lives a life of boring meetings, he meets boring people, he deals with boring situations (and the occasional interesting one).</p>
<p>His life does not in any way resemble the plot of a 70s porn movie.</p>
<p>Right up until a friendly plumber named Greg turns up on his doorstep...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by the wonderful TheMuchTooMerryMaiden.

Mycroft looked up as the doorbell rang. He frowned slightly, not expecting anyone to be calling.

He stood and smoothed his suit, as he always did, then walked to the front door.

The spy hole revealed a middle-aged man, grey hair, wearing jeans and a t-shirt and carrying a large tool box.

Mycroft opened the door, cautiously.

“All right, mate? You Mr Holmes?” The man asked, cheerfully.

Mycroft swallowed as the deep brown eyes fixed their gaze on his own. “Indeed. And…”

“Plumber, mate. Greg, from Wet Dreams? Anthea called me, told me you had a problem I could help fix.”

Mycroft felt his eyes widen slightly at the company name. Anthea had a lot to answer for. “Ah, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” he stuttered.

“Don’t tell me I’ve come too soon,” Greg winked. “Finished another job, thought I’d see if you were up for it. I can come back if you can’t fit me in?”

“No, no, please, do come in,” Mycroft stood aside, willing away the blush which threatened his cheeks.

“What’s the problem then, Chief?” Greg asked, as he stepped inside the large entrance hall and looked around.

“The shower is dripping, in the en suite.”

Greg nodded, but Mycroft didn’t miss the fact he took the opportunity to look him up and down.

“Let’s check you out, then,” Greg said, gesturing to the stairs.

Mycroft trod on the bottom step.

“Probably just need to give your nuts a tighten,” Greg said, cheerfully.

Mycroft almost stopped, but instead he slid a finger into his collar, and loosened it minutely.

“I…am sure you’ll be entirely adept at solving the…problem, yes.”

 

Mycroft opened the door to his bedroom and stood aside.

Lestrade made no attempt to hide it as he looked around the room.

“Nice. Classy. That a super-king bed?”

“I, um, yes, it is,” Mycroft answered, flustered.

“Always wanted to be spread out on one of them,” Lestrade grinned. “This the en suite, is it?”

“Yes, indeed,” Mycroft nodded and gestured, trying to wipe the vision of Greg spread out on the bed from his mind - which wasn’t easy.

“Gotta ask, or I’ll find myself striding confidently back into the closet,” Greg grinned.

Mycroft watched as Greg put his toolbox down, pulled open the spotless glass door, kicked off his workboots and stepped into the shower tray.

“Oh, you’ll get wet,” Mycroft blurted out.

The man turned and gave him a positively filthy wink. “Already wet for you, chief, don’t fret.”

Mycroft had to swallow hard and gasp in a breath, rendering himself completely unable to answer.

“Is…can I offer you a drink?” Mycroft finally managed, dredging up some manners, as Greg examined the shower head, the constant drip causing a large wet patch on his shirt - which was already tight enough to leave little to the imagination.

“Brilliant. Coffee if you’ve got it - black. Tea if you haven’t, with milk.”

“Yes, of course,” Mycroft removed himself from the small room with the outrageous and gorgeous man, and allowed himself a moment, once he reached the hallway, to gather himself.

As he pottered around the kitchen, finding mugs and a few biscuits he calmed a little. The man was friendly, and the fact he was also incredibly good looking just meant he himself was taking everything entirely the wrong way. It was purely jollity, not flirting.

 

He walked back upstairs with the small tray, two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits carefully balanced.

He almost dropped the lot when he walked through the door to find Greg was now wet and shirtless in the shower.

“Sorry,” Greg said, not sounding it in the least. “Was getting so wet I figured it’d be better if I just stripped off.”

Mycroft closed his eyes at the vision which assaulted him, as if it weren’t bad enough to be looking at Greg’s tanned and muscular torso, he was now imagining what was hidden in those snug jeans. 

“Yes, quite sensible. Coffee, is, I mean, your coffee is here. And some biscuits, in case you were peckish?”

“Mmm,” the noise the man made was sinful. Mycroft concentrated on not closing his eyes and letting it wash over him. “Ah, HobNobs. My favourite.”

Mycroft did his best to ignore the extra emphasis on ‘Nobs’, and cleared his throat. “Have you, errr, diagnosed the issue?” He gestured to the shower head.

“Yeah. Going to have to have it off, I’m afraid,” Greg stood, completely unconcerned, as if he wasn’t sipping coffee with beads of water running down his chest looking like a denim-clad adonis, making such blatant double entendres virtually in Mycroft’s bedroom. “The shower head, I mean. Reckon you’re all bunged up. Need a good blow out, then your valve replacing.”

Mycroft nodded along as if he knew what Greg was talking about. Greg sipped his coffee.

“Hard, innit?” He said.

Mycroft felt a blush racing up his body, past a part of him which was definitely semi-hard.

“The water, I mean,” Greg continued. “Scales everything up. Before you know it, rock solid.”

Mycroft almost whimpered.

“Should I…should I leave you to it?” He managed to say.

Greg shrugged. “I don’t mind an audience, but if you’ve got things to attend to, I’m sure I’ve got this in hand.”

“I…shall…just do a few things, but if you need me, I shall be nearby.” Mycroft said, stumbling over his words.

“Sure thing, Mr Holmes,” Greg took another long swallow of coffee. “Thanks for that,” he put the empty mug back on the tray. “Delicious.”

Mycroft made a quick escape. He was absolutely certain, now, that the man could not be doing this by accident.

He went back to his office and completely failed to do any work.

Then there was a light tap on the door, and a - thankfully fully clothed - Greg appeared.

“Sorry to disturb you. Just need to get my hands on your stop-cock.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. He was going to be calm, and not act like a teenager with a crush.

“Of course. Please, this way.”

“Use it much?” Greg said from behind him.

“I…no, I don’t recall the last time…”

“Might be a bit stiff then. Lack of use can do that, sometimes.”

“Yes, I believe so,” Mycroft tried to sound unaffected by the very thought of Greg wrapping his strong hands around a stiff stop-cock.

 

Of course, it didn’t help matters when Greg bent double, rooting around in the basement cupboard, showing off his perfectly toned bum.

“Mmm, bit tight, but I’m sure I’ve got the tool for the job,” Greg said, slightly muffled by his position.

“I am certain you’re entirely proficient.”

“You don’t half speak nice,” came the cheerful voice back. “Very refined. Bet people find it sexy, eh?”

Mycroft cursed his pale skin as a blush threatened again. “Not…that I have noticed.”

Greg gave a low groan, then disentangled himself from the mops and brooms. “There. Got it off. Now I can see if your valve needs replacing. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thank you. I’m glad it won’t take too long. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, don’t think I’d mind being kept,” Greg winked. “Could be here all night - anything for a happy customer. Don’t get work by leaving people high and dry.”

“Yes, of course, kind of you to say so,” Mycroft rambled.

He knew he shouldn’t torture himself, but he couldn’t look away as Greg bounded back up the stairs, two at a time, his socked feet barely making a sound.

He seriously considered having a quick wank under his desk, just to take the edge off. It was preposterous - he, a grown man, feeling as awkward and embarrassed as a horny teenager, and in his own home, no less.

 

Eventually, after enough time to gather himself again, and in response to the siren-call of cheerful whistling, he ventured upstairs again.

“How’s it going?” he asked, trying to be cool, calm and collected.

Greg jumped, then laughed. “Sorry, didn’t hear you coming. Yeah, fine. Just slipping it all back in, have you in here, all lathered up in a jiffy.”

“Another…coffee, perhaps?” Mycroft asked, wondering if his voice sounded squeaky or if he was imagining it.

“Fantastic,” Greg smiled. “You know how to keep a man happy.”

 

Mycroft stood in the kitchen, hands gripping the worktop.

What should he do? Was the man mocking him? If he were to respond to any of the outrageous flirting would he be laughed at? Or was he about to allow fear to stifle a chance of…something with a good looking, funny, and seemingly very pleasant man - one who must have passed security checks, given Anthea had hired him to attend the house. The sort of person he very rarely met, in fact.

He steeled himself. The chance would soon be lost if he didn’t grasp it with both hands. Then he closed his eyes tightly. He should definitely not think about grasping things with both hands.

 

The mugs in his hands shook very slightly.

“Here we are,” he announced as he entered the small bathroom again.

“Fantastic,” Greg said, although he didn’t turn around - he seemed to have both hands stuffed inside the wall, somehow.

Mycroft watched him moving - strong shoulders, trim waist, pert bum and strong thighs. He allowed himself to drink in the sight. It was only after several minutes that he realised he was being observed in the mirror. Blood raced to stain his face in a sure sign of guilt.

“Like what you see?” Greg asked, wiping his hands on his buttocks. “Because, you know, I do special offers, for my favourite customers.” He advanced upon Mycroft, who was torn between turning and fleeing and standing his ground and - hopefully literally - giving as good as he got.

“I’m always in awe of a man who’s good with his hands,” he said, hoping he sounded far more smooth and confident than he felt.

“That so? You haven’t seen the half of it, then,” Greg grinned, then took the steaming mug of coffee and sipped it, gazing into Mycroft’s eyes.

“I’m very hopeful of seeing all of…it,” Mycroft stammered, wondering why years of public speaking and an excellent knowledge of the English language were both deserting him in the very moment he required eloquence. 

Greg’s smile only widened. He put his mug down, and just as Mycroft thought he was going to turn back to the shower and finish his work, he found himself grabbed by the lapels of his jacket and pulled into a searing kiss. Rough stubble and smooth tongue played over his lips and he opened his mouth, half in surprise, half in welcome.

The small noise of satisfaction Greg made went directly south, and Mycroft found himself having to step forward to stay upright, and that momentum was used to drag him forward, until he was pressed hard against Greg’s muscular body.

They broke apart, Mycroft gasping for breath, Greg’s hands smoothing his suit back down where it had been wrinkled.

“So, Mr Holmes, want to take advantage of my…special offer?”

“I…I…believe I do, yes,” Mycroft almost whispered. 

“So what special thing can I offer you?” Greg jumped up to sit on the worktop between the two basins and pulled Mycroft to stand between his legs.

“I…um…” Mycroft felt entirely unsure about how to respond, and his brain had mostly gone offline when he felt the obvious hardness within Greg’s jeans.

“How about I try to get you interested with my welcome pack, then maybe we’ll move onto the super-deluxe all-inclusive…”

Given Mycroft had absolutely no idea what any of it might mean he thought he did well to nod.

Greg hopped off the worktop again and pushed Mycroft backwards, out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Then he fell to his knees, grabbing Mycroft’s buttocks in his large, strong hands, and burying his face in Mycroft’s crotch.

Mycroft could feel the heat of his breath, the sensation of lips so tantalisingly close, only separated from his cock by his suit and underwear. He fumbled with his trouser fastening, then felt his eyes widen as a wet tongue slid around his fingers, and teeth took hold of the tab of his zip.

“Oh my…” he breathed.

“Mmmm,” came the answer, and a very warm, damp tongue slid along his length over the cotton of his briefs. Then fingers slid between his skin and the elastic, and he almost whimpered as first his trousers fell to the floor, heaped around his ankles, and then his pants were peeled off, allowing his cock to finally spring free for a second before being engulfed in the wet heat of Greg’s mouth.

“Oh my God,” he whimpered. “I…you…uuuuh.”

Greg’s fingers were once again digging into his buttocks, dragging him closer, and he was forced to slide his hands into Greg’s soft grey hair to stay upright as his knees threatened to buckle.

“Oh, oh,” he tried to find some words - any words - but all he could think about was the soft warm slickness of Greg’s mouth, the tongue playing over the sensitive head of his penis, the gentle lips wrapped around his shaft.

“So,” Greg pulled off, then flicked his tongue out, lapping at the slit. “What you gonna do to me?”

“You…said you wanted to be spread out,” Mycroft managed, remembering their conversation from earlier.

“Sure do,” Greg took another long suck on Mycroft’s cock.

“Then…you, we…should.”

Greg stood in one smooth motion, and took his time stripping his t-shirt off, then threw it aside. Then he unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them open slowly, each stud of the fly popping open, the pause in between just making Mycroft more desperate for the next.

Mycroft stared, transfixed, forgetting that he was still fully dressed on his top-half, even though his trousers were around his ankles.

Greg turned, pushing his jeans and bright purple boxer shorts down over his bum, then turned and blew Mycroft a kiss.

Mycroft broke from his trance and smiled, then began unbuttoning his own clothing, realising he probably looked ridiculous, and also that he needed to catch up.

Greg stepped out of his jeans, then walked over to the bed, crawling onto it, sinuously, before lying face down on the soft duvet, groaning in a way that made Mycroft fumble his cufflinks.

Mycroft licked his lips as he allowed himself to look Greg up and down - muscular, yet with a slight softness - no vein-popping body building muscles, just ones from honest hard work.

On one calf a stylised black cannon in a shield was tattooed, and although Mycroft generally found tattoos slightly crass, somehow he didn’t mind it on Greg.

He was finally naked, and he approached the bed, licking his lips at the sight of the other man, spreadeagled, waiting…

Mycroft slid onto the mattress between the spread legs, then bent and nipped Greg’s perfect bumcheek.

Greg laughed. “Cannibal.”

“It was you making a meal of me, earlier,” Mycroft responded, biting the other cheek as well.

“That was a starter. I intend to savour the main course - nice meat and two veg, is it?”

Mycroft crawled further up the bed, then supported himself on his arms and knees, pressing his hard cock against the crack of Greg’s arse, pushing, feeling the delicious warmth of smooth skin.

“Got lube?” Greg asked, from his position, trapped under Mycroft.

“I do,” Mycroft answered, not moving to fetch it, instead just enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin - a warm solid body, instead of his own hand and some porn from the internet. He dropped his head, pressing dry kisses along Greg’s shoulder, allowing himself to sniff the soft grey hair.

He felt Greg pushing back against him and smiled. He rolled away, reaching for the bedside cabinet, smiling as Greg moved too, as if chasing him across the bed, strong hand running over his side, fingers digging into the soft flesh between his ribs and his hips, holding him so he couldn’t escape - not that he would try. But it made him feel wanted, and desirable, and he smiled to himself as he grabbed the bottle of lube and rolled back, ending up almost nose-to-nose with Greg.

As he was pulled in for a kiss, the lube was taken from his hand, and he couldn’t help but smile as his mind supplied just what that might mean.

“You going to help? Or don’t you like getting your hands….dirty,” Greg’s eyes had fluttered closed as he spoke, and Mycroft could only imagine why - his cock grew stiffer, if possible, at the images which his mind conjured up.

“I fear I have allowed you to do all the work today.” Mycroft slid his hand around Greg’s waist, pulling him onto his front and reaching down, finding slick fingers and flesh, almost gasping as his fingertips slid around the stretched skin.

He leant in, using his body to push Greg into the mattress, licking and kissing the ear he could reach, tangling their left hands on the pillow as their other hands, covered in lube, continued to work together to breach the entrance to Greg’s body.

Somehow he had never done anything so intimate - breathing the same air as Greg, looking into his deep brown eyes, their fingers both pushing inside the heat and slick of his body. He couldn’t help but press kisses to Greg’s face. His middle finger was deep inside Greg now, and he used his index finger and thumb to pinch the soft buttock they were pressed against.

His need to bury himself into the other man was so great he didn’t care when he finally pulled his hand free that he only had the sheet to wipe it on, before throwing his leg over, using the entire length of his body to press Greg down. He got his knees under himself just enough to gain space to guide himself in with one hand. His eyes closed and mouth hung open at the heat and pressure. He could feel Greg pushing back against him, arching his back.

“Fuck, yeah,” Greg said, voice rough.

“Yes, yes,” Mycroft responded, thrusting, feeling his hips tight against Greg’s bum. He opened his eyes to see Greg’s strong shoulders with muscles flexing as the man braced himself, pushing back as if trying to take as much of Mycroft’s cock as possible. It took Mycroft’s breath away, but he kept moving, trying to hold himself back from giving in to his animal urges.

“Let me…” Greg pushed back, and Mycroft slid out, the air feeling cool on his rock-hard cock. Greg knelt up, shuffling forward, then gripping the solid wooden headboard, arse stuck out, inviting Mycroft in.

Mycroft took the opportunity to throw the bunched-up duvet off the bed, before lining himself up and pushing his cock back in in one smooth move, hands gripping Greg’s waist, pulling him back as he set a faster pace now the leverage was better.

“Oh fuck, yeah, yeah, like that,” Greg panted, rolling his head back until Mycroft could kiss and lick his neck.

Mycroft was desperate for more - he could feel the delicious hollow intense feeling growing deep in his groin, and he blindly reached out, finding the headboard, Greg’s hands, and pulled himself even tighter to the other man.

“Yes, fucking…fuck me, Mycroft, fuck me,” Greg pushed back, braced, and Mycroft gave in, pounding into him, hearing the ridiculous sound of flesh slapping on flesh, the panting and moaning straight out of a porn video, as he chased the feeling of growing pleasure, the tingle in his toes, and the hot-cold pressure building within.

He felt Greg’s hand move, and realised the man was wanking himself off. Somehow it just spurred him on, and he finally gave in, burying himself deep inside Greg’s heat, trying to fit every millimetre of his cock inside as waves of pleasure flowed through him. He panted, pressing in again and again, feeling Greg’s muscles squeezing him as if trying to keep a hold.

Finally Mycroft dropped his head forward, resting his forehead on Greg’s shoulder, unclamping his fingers from the headboard and gently holding Greg’s hips, stroking and comforting, and wanting to stay close, stay in the moment.

Greg squirmed, stretched, and Mycroft felt the cool air of the room hit his cock once more.

“Mmmm,” he said, trying to untangle them, and kissing Mycroft’s head.

Mycroft felt as if his limbs were made of wet spaghetti as he found himself being pushed back on the bed, ending up with his head at the foot end, held close to Greg, as both of them finally got their breath back, hearts finally slowing to a regular beat.

“Mind if I smoke?” Greg finally said, kissing Mycroft’s temple.

“Mmm? No. As long as you share.”

Greg laughed, and reached out to drag his jeans closer, fumbling for a packet of tobacco, propping himself on his elbows as he rolled a slim cigarette, Mycroft transfixed by the nimble fingers and delicate tip of his tongue wetting the paper.

Finally he lit up, rolling back to Mycroft, holding the delicate tube to Mycroft’s lips.

Mycroft took a drag, the smoke filling his lungs, and he sighed it out, relaxing further into Greg’s loose embrace.

“Where on earth did Anthea find you?” He murmured.

“She didn’t say?”

Mycroft shook his head, interest piqued.

“I live next door to her mum. Lovely lady.”

“You…Oh! So…you…know Anthea?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah - takes right after her mum, that one does. You know Bea was at Bletchley, in the war? Codebreaker or summat, she won’t say, obviously. Say’s she signed the Official Secrets and no pillock nowadays can tell her it’s okay to talk about it. Tells me everything else they got up to though - sounds like she was a right one, in her day.”

“I..yes, I knew…I didn’t realise that you…”

“Ah,” Greg took a long drag on the cigarette. “You figured this was clean cut - fix the shower, have a shag, never hear from me again - but perhaps get an unfortunate stiffy every time you see a dripping tap?”

“No! Well, perhaps, at first, I admit…but no, not if…not if you would be…willing, to perhaps have a …coffee? Maybe? Some time?”

Greg grinned. “Really? Honestly, I won’t take offence. I mean, not that I do this often. Or…at all. But…”

“Really,” Mycroft nodded. His main concern had been one of security, but he knew that anyone Anthea trusted with her own mother’s wellbeing couldn’t be bad.

“Anth said I’d like you,” Greg grinned, and blew a smoke ring - almost a triumphant act, it seemed to Mycroft.

“She…did she? I see.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was disconcerted by Anthea saying such a thing to Greg, or by the thought that she had somehow decided that her boss was the sort of man who might fall into bed with a handsome plumber here to fix a leak - as if his life had gone from high-powered Government advisor to character in a cheap, badly written porn movie.

Greg laughed. “You sound horrified. Mind you, you looked fairly horrified at first, too.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but smile. “You were…not what I expected, I shall admit. Most people are…”

“Terrified of you?” Greg interjected. “Bea told me you might seem like you have a stick up your arse…but what you really needed was something else up there.”

Mycroft felt himself blush so hard he was worried he might spontaneously combust. “She…” The protest died on his lips, as he conceded that, actually, if anyone in his social circle might say such a thing, it would be Anthea’s mother.

“Well, in that case, I’m certain she will be overjoyed to hear that you enjoyed the breakfast I will cook for you in the morning,” Mycroft smiled.

“Oh yeah?” Greg propped himself up on his elbow, reaching to put the cigarette between Mycroft’s lips again.

“Indeed. After all, you still have to put my shower back together now, do you not? After which time we may both have suitably recovered for you test her theory of exactly what may or may not be ‘up my arse’.”


End file.
